


10 Years Later

by masked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: ....sort of???, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bitter Castiel (Supernatural), M/M, Miscommunication, Past Dean Winchester/Other(s), Past Infidelity, Professor Castiel, Teacher Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-04-09
Packaged: 2019-09-07 02:45:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16845604
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masked/pseuds/masked
Summary: based on the prompt: "10 years later. They had an intense fling but Cas felt it was wrong (Dean was technically still w somebody else when it started) and broke it off. 10 years later, Dean shows up at Cas’s workplace."Castiel just wanted to run a successful science conference for youths, not run into his past life who he's been in love with this whole time.





	10 Years Later

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on April 9, 2018 [here](http://hamburgergod.tumblr.com/post/172729125023/i-think-my-sunset-prompt-is-10-years-later-they).
> 
> disclaimer: Dean and Cas don't cheat on each other as per prompt's nature. The "past infidelity" tag refers to Dean/other's relationship in the past.

Castiel is readying one of the exercises for the engineering and science youth program when he gets an impeding headache.

He massages his scalp no to avail. Of  _course_  the one day that he’s expected to be supervising groups of high school students from all over the country is when he comes down with a headache.

“Castiel?” calls Hannah. “How’s it going? Can I let them in?”

Castiel looks around the room—everything is set up and ready to go, so he nods an OK.

This isn’t his first time running the program, but he still feels the rush of nervousness as the students pour inside the room. Their teacher chaperons enter the room after their groups, nudging them to their respective tables, and Castiel stands at the front, trying to calm his nerves while he waits for everyone to enter and settle down.

It’s only a miracle that he doesn’t drop his microphone when he sees Dean Winchester stride into the room.

Dean doesn’t pay him any mind—he’s talking and laughing with one of his students while he lunges for one of the cookies that Castiel’s painstakingly set up in the middle of every table. Castiel fights the overwhelming urge to stalk over and smack the cookie out of his hands. Dean shushes his students down, who keeps wanting to talk with him, and points to the front probably telling them to pay attention. He himself faces the front, and frowns up at Castiel like he needs glasses. His face smoothens out into nonchalance, and settles against his chair comfortably. It’s the lack of reaction that strikes Castiel with a realization; he doesn’t even recognize him.

Unbelievable.

Hannah clears her throat. “Castiel?” she nudges, and Castiel blinks. He looks around the room, which is silent as they wait for him to speak. His stomach churns, and he clears his throat.

“Good morning, everyone,” Castiel starts. “My name is Castiel, and welcome to the engineering and science youth program here at…”

He’s practiced the speech many times enough that it goes by in a daze without himself having to pay attention as much. This is their first time watching him speak, so it isn’t as if they notice any difference in his demeanor. Hannah gives him a strange look from the side, but he ignores her, instead fixing his eyes onto one of the students sitting near the front. He gives his brief physics lecture on the forces that surround and make up the world, and they get on with one of the group exercises, which is to build an electric generator out of everyday material.

The exercise is time-based, and also a competition between tables, so nobody pays Castiel any attention as he walks around the room. They definitely don’t notice how he pointedly ignores one corner of the room; it isn’t professional of him, and maybe even a shade of petty, but he’s not prepared to deal with Dean. Especially when he doesn’t even remember him.

Halfway through the given time, there’s a whooping cheer from the corner of the room Castiel dreads to hear from, and he turns to see Dean and his group of students high-fiving each other. There’s a split second of hesitation to contemplate on whether he walks over to their table or not, but it isn’t fair to treat Dean’s students any differently just because their teacher is a bastard.

One of the students catch his eyes, and Castiel smiles at them warmly to let them know that he’s heard them. He’s about to walk over to test their generator when Dean looks up and waves at him, still with a grin lingering on his handsome face, and calls, “Cas, get over here!”

It’s only thanks to Castiel’s professionalism that he doesn’t freeze on the spot.

Instead, Castiel calmly proceeds to declare Dean’s group the winner of the exercise, and makes sure to let everyone know that there is still a prize for second and third place, so please try your best until the end. Castiel studies the group’s design meanwhile, turning the small thing in his hands, and asks a few questions to the students.

“We did something really similar in class,” says one of the students with a shrug, “so it was pretty easy.”

Castiel nods. It’s an interesting approach to a fairly standard exercise. It’s a bit crude in design, but it’s in perfect working condition. It has Dean written all over it.

“Well,” Castiel says, carefully putting the generator down, carefully directing his words only at the students, “congratulations. I’m sure Mr. Winchester is very proud of you.”

The students all roll their eyes, but they laugh still, and Castiel turns away quickly before Dean can get any word in.

Dean’s group winning first at least gives him a legitimate reason to ignore their table for the rest of the exercise. After the prizes are handed out, it’s lunchtime at the university cafeteria, and only then does Castiel breathe a little.

There’s a touch on his arm, and Hannah is there with a concerned frown. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” Castiel moves up a little in line. “Why wouldn’t I be fine?”

“You just, well, you didn’t seem yourself.” Hannah smiles tentatively. “And it isn’t the nerves getting to you.”

Castiel sighs. After working together in the same faculty over the years, of course she noticed. “I’m fine,” he reassures, though they both know it’s a lie this time. “I just have a headache.”

She quirks an eyebrow, but she politely leaves it at that. Castiel isn’t sure if he even tastes his sandwich, but he chews thoroughly to avoid getting sick on top of his already never-ending pounding pain in his head.

Lunch goes by somehow, and he’s walking back from the restroom just before he’s expected in the conference room again when he sees Dean in the hallway, studying a poster. Castiel hates that his heart betrays him at this moment, skipping a beat at the sight of the man who he left behind ten years ago. He does his very best to keep walking at a steady pace to pass him by, his footsteps too loud for his liking.

Dean glances away from the poster, and to his surprise, steps in front of him, forcing eye contact as Castiel looks up with a start. “Cas.”

It’s unbelievable how much ease he says his name with, and it is infuriating how handsome Dean still is after all these years.

“It’s Castiel,” Castiel replies icily.

Dean blinks in surprise. Castiel tries to take this to his advantage, and he’s about to walk away when Dean jokingly replies, “Don’t you think a t-shirt and some highlighters are kinda lame for a first place prize?”

His green eyes are just as bright and beautiful as before, and he’s developed laugh lines beside his eyes. “If you have any complaints with the program, Mr. Winchester, I’d be more than happy to give you the contact to file it properly.”

“Cas—”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel hisses with a step towards him, enough for their chests to almost touch, and Dean snaps his mouth shut. “You’re here as your students’ chaperone, and I’m here to host this program. We are at a professional setting, and I expect you act as such, and after today ends, we will go our separate ways and pretend that neither of us exist to each other like we’ve been doing for the past ten years.”

Without waiting for a reply, Castiel turns away and strides down the hall, ignoring how Dean stands still at his spot, ignoring the way his heart slams against his chest, ignoring the anguishing amount of flutter in his stomach as he thinks back to the way his name had sounded when shaped by Dean’s mouth.

He’s grateful to find Hannah at the front, talking to the crowd while she stalls for time. She raises her eyebrows when she sees him enter, and the eyebrows climb up even higher when Dean follows him into the room right after, but Castiel ignores that too. He takes a few deep breaths while Hannah finishes up, and he’s calm enough to get on with the next lecture and exercise. He just wants this day to be over with.

The next exercise is to build as high of a tower as possible only using newspapers. They have an hour before they’re expected to finish, so Castiel lets the students formulate their blueprints while he sits to the side. He gulps down a bottle of water when Hannah taps him on the shoulder. “Yes?”

“Did something happen between you and Mr. Winchester?”

The blood drains from his face momentarily, but logically there’s no reason why Hannah would even know about their past. “Why do you ask?”

She glances over to Dean’s table, and back to him. “You didn’t look well when you came back with him. And now, he keeps looking at you ever since.”

Castiel fights every urge to glance at Dean just to see if she’s right. “I didn’t come back with him,” he snaps, and when Hannah crosses her arms together, he takes one deep breath to dial the anger down. “He just happened to enter the room after me.”

“Right,” she replies. She chews on her lips. “If he’s bothering you—”

“No,” Castiel cuts. “Hannah, he’s not… It’s fine. He’s not.” Hannah shoots him a look full of disbelief, and Castiel tries a reassuring smile. He’s sure it doesn’t look anywhere close to it. “It’s just my headache.”

“Uh huh.” She stares at him a little longer to see if he’ll explain himself further, and when he doesn’t, she sighs. “The next time you use that excuse on me, I’m not backing down.”

Castiel huffs. “Thank you, Hannah.”

She glances sideways. “If you want to take a break,” she says slowly, “I’m here to supervise the room, too.”

“That’s not ne—”

Someone clears their throat, and Castiel knows by instinct, without looking up, who it is.

Professionally, professionally.

“Mr. Winchester. Can I help you with anything?” Castiel asks, standing up from his chair.

“Cas,” Dean starts, and glances at Hannah. “Can I have a quick word with you?”

Castiel crosses his arms. “Of course.”

Dean stares at Castiel with storm in his eyes, and Castiel doesn’t plan to budge. Whatever he wants to say, he can say here.

Hannah watches from the sideline, and she clears her throat when neither of them attempts to do anything else. “Castiel,” she says carefully, “why don’t you go and have a little break?”

Castiel shoots her the most betrayed look he can muster.

“I got it here,” she says firmly.

He bites back a sigh as his headache migrates to the back of his neck. “Excuse me, then,” he mutters, and practically storms out of the room, not caring to see if Dean is following.

It’s mid-afternoon, and the light shines through the window-walls of the conference hall. It’s empty in the hallway, and Castiel looks out the window instead of having to face Dean. He hears someone stand beside him, and bites down.

Dean clears his throat. “Nice weather.”

“Yes.”

“Still not much of a small talker, huh?”

“No.”

A group of students pass by behind them.

“So, this is what you’ve been up to, huh?” Dean’s body gears towards him. “Professor Novak.”

And the way he says it, the provocative nature of this confrontation, Castiel no longer wants any part of it. “Dean, get to the point. What do you want?”

“What do I want?” Dean echoes. “Cas, I see you after ten years of you—going off the grid, and you’re acting like I killed your firstborn last time we talked. Which, just to remind you, was ten fucking  _years_ ago. What the hell happened, man?”

Dean looks—good. Even after all these years, Castiel still finds himself gravitating towards him, and he hates that after all these years, the love he thought he’d smothered out still lives within. Even the way Dean scowls at him now, his brain still finds a way to see it as endearing instead of threatening.

He can’t do this.

“Dean,” Castiel says miserably.

Dean’s shoulders slump down, and he stills.

“What happened between us, when we… it didn’t mean anything. I understand that was the nature of our relationship at the time. We were—young, and it was good, and fun, and—”

“Cas—”

“And,” Castiel stresses, “it was wrong.”

Dean’s expression darkens. “Wrong,” he replies flatly.

“Yes,” Castiel says, not wavering.

“So everything we did together, that really was—” Dean grits his teeth, and lets out a quiet, almost a low growl. “It was, what, just a good couple of experimental fucks, and you were out? Is that it?”

He knows, at the end of the day, that he’s angry at himself more than anyone else. He should’ve known. That he was devoted to Dean no matter what the details were, like the fact that Dean was in a relationship with someone else at the time, and that when offered love in some way in any form by Dean in return, he didn’t care about the details.

He was irrational, and let his passion consume him, and he had spent years recalling the night when Dean had first kissed him in his college dorm room and they had desperately held onto each other, and a floodgate had opened up for Castiel that night, and he had poured everything he had. He was happy to just have that, that one night to cherish, but then Dean kept coming back, and Castiel was not strong enough to deny him.

He’s not sure if he’s strong enough now.

Castiel closes his eyes. “No.”

“Then  _what_ , Cas?”

Castiel does  _not_ flinch. “Dean, I can’t do this again.”

Dean lets out a frustrated groan. “And what is  _this_?”

“This.  _Us_.” Castiel braces himself before he says, “It took me  _years_  to get over you.”

The way they burned together—the destructive, desperate yearning he had whenever he was with Dean was intoxicating, and then suddenly, the details  _did_ matter. He should’ve been able to separate his feelings and his desires for Dean, but unlike Dean, it wasn’t something he could ever do. He won’t be anyone’s thing on the side anymore, and he’s decided during the many nights when he was wrecked over his heartbreak, every day after Dean’s warmth had left him. Not again. 

He’s had to remind himself of that ever since he first saw Dean today, and with Dean standing in front of him now, he knows that if asked, even after all these years, he would be willing to give more than everything he has, again, because his resolve is weak, and he is a weak man. Certainly when it comes to Dean Winchester.

Not again. Not again.

“So give me the common courtesy of ignoring me for the rest of the day,” Castiel continues, staring at this man who he’s loved with all of his aching heart. “You owe me that much, Dean.”

Castiel watches confusion mar Dean’s face. He leaves him to it, and turns away to go back inside when a firm grip around his wrist stops him. He looks down at the hand, which connects to a muscular arm, which connects to the wide shoulders beside Dean’s face, who’s looking at him incredulously like he’s seeing Castiel for the first time.

Dean swallows. There’s something about his wide eyes that unnerves him. “Years?”

Castiel hardens his expression.

“If it didn’t mean anything for you, then why…”

“You know why,” Castiel snaps, but Dean’s grip doesn’t loosen.

“Cas,” Dean pleads, “I seriously feel like we’re having two different conversations here.”

So he’s going to make him say it. Fine. If that’s what gets him to finally back off after so many minutes of talking—if it doesn’t matter anyway—

“I loved you,” Castiel pours, and steels his gaze and squares his shoulders. “I hate you for making me love you, but God, I loved you, no matter who you were with at the time. And I still…”

Castiel’s breath stutters. He lowers his gaze. Ten years of carefully building himself back up, and after one look at this man, his resolve dissolves like it’s all been for nothing. He hates him. He hates him.

“Cas,” Dean says shakily, and Castiel won’t budge, he won’t be shaken, “Cas, you fucking asshole. Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Watch your language,” Castiel replies with a frown. “There are still students around—”

“I went to find you, and you were just fucking gone,” Dean continues, and Castiel stills. “You didn’t answer any of my calls, and I couldn’t find you anywhere, and you were  _gone_. Nobody would tell me where you went because of privacy and shit, and I thought I—”

Something almost like hope rises in his chest, and Castiel pushes it down. “Why?”

“You know why.” His hand squeezes around Castiel’s wrist.

“But those people—you were always with someone else—”

“Because I thought—you’d never want someone like me. Not like that.” Dean swallows. “So I—managed.”

Castiel stares. His thoughts scramble into utter chaos, and he almost wishes Dean is lying to keep him from shattering again, but he finds nothing but earnest, wide green eyes. “I don’t believe you,” he says weakly.

“Jesus fucking  _Christ_ , Cas, I finally manned up and went to find you to tell you I fucking love you, and you disappeared on me.” Dean tugs him towards him, and Castiel goes, his head now full of white noise. “Do you know how much that fucks with your head? And I didn’t know  _why_ you left, I didn’t even know where you were, and all I knew was that I wasn’t even important enough to—”

Dean abruptly stops, and his eyes dart around at the floor, and Castiel stands there, watching this man that he’s pushed away because they’re both fucking idiots who can’t work out problems like normal adults do.

“Are you kidding me?” Castiel echoes.

Dean huffs, and looks up into his eyes with a familiar, miserable quirk of his lips. “I wish.”

Castiel surges forward, professionalism be damned, and grabs Dean’s face. It’s more like slamming their mouths together than a kiss, and Dean muffles out a surprise, but he gets with the program quickly as he wraps his arms around Castiel’s waist, and Castiel gasps against Dean’s lips while Dean goes in for more, and it’s exactly how he remembers it—the desperation, the yearning, the way they burn against each other. Only, this time Castiel realizes, it isn’t one-way, and it never has been.

Ten years. Ten fucking years.

Dean breaks off the kiss, but he tightens his grip on his waist. “Cas,” Dean says, his cheeks flushed, “as much as I’d love to do this right now, I—we have a lot to talk about.”

And he’s right. Of course he’s right. Castiel nods.

“And maybe not right now,” Dean continues with a glance at the conference room door, and releases him. “But, um…”

Castiel takes out a pen, and a piece of paper, and scribbles his phone number down. “Later,” Castiel promises. He tentatively lifts his hand against Dean’s cheek, and Dean sighs against the touch, leaning into it like he’s wanted this for as long as Castiel has. Dean looks so hopeful, it baffles him how he never saw it before. Too wrapped up around his own heartbreak, probably.

After Dean makes sure Castiel has his number too, they walk back into the conference room together, and Castiel can’t believe how much can change within an hour. Dean’s group of students have built their newspaper tower high enough to touch the ceiling, and this time, Castiel can look at Dean in the eyes while he declares them the winner with a smile.

He belatedly realizes his headache is gone.

The end of the exercise marks the end of the day, and everyone is grouping up on first floor while they wait for their school buses to come and pick them up. Hannah’s said her goodbyes and gone back to the faculty, and usually Castiel would be doing that too, but he has unfinished business.

Dean is easy to find in the crowd. Castiel shuffles through it to reach him before he climbs on the bus, meeting Dean’s eyes head-on when he sees him coming. Dean stops, and climbs back down the stairs. He lets the bus driver know that he’ll be right back, and they stand in front of Dean’s school bus, where his students pretend to not watch them out the bus window.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says quietly.

“Hello, Dean.” Castiel doesn’t do anything, but now that he knows, his fingers twitch, hungry to touch Dean’s skin again.

Dean must see this, and he smirks, and it’s the most beautiful thing Castiel’s ever seen. “Missed me already?”

“Of course,” he replies instead of kissing him like he wants to, public eyes be damned. He leans a little, indicating Dean to do the same, and whispers, “I’ll have my way with you later.”

Dean barks out a laugh. “That a promise, Professor Novak?” He wiggles his eyebrows, but his eyes are full of fondness.

“We’ll make up for lost time,” Castiel replies simply.

And they do.


End file.
